Rancor
by Merr2
Summary: There is no such thing as letting bygones be bygones, erasing your sins, or keeping the past in the past. Because mistakes have a way of catching up with those who try and ignore them, and running can only work for so long.


**I promised no more angsty, depressing stories, but then this popped into my head. It was done in an hurry, and I'm sure it's riddled with mistakes. This isn't my best work by any means, but this wouldn't leave my mind. Flames are allowed, cause I know I deserve them**.

After the first time, she said never again. She wasn't one of _those _women, she was smarter, stronger, she had more pride. And hadn't her Momma taught her better? So what if he'd had the nightmares again, so what if he went down on his knees and cried at her feet, so what if she…if she deserved it?

And so she left while he was sleeping.

She stayed in a hotel, too ashamed to go to the mansion and tell them what happened. They wouldn't say it aloud, but there would be those looks they'd share between each other. Deep down inside, they'd give themselves a mental pat on the back, because they'd always predicted that it wouldn't work out and that eventually their relationship would fall apart.

It took two hours for her to start missing him. Three for the separation to become nearly painful. Four for him to find the place and take her in his arms.

His eyes had been red-rimmed and full of desperation when she'd opened the door. Just like that day. That horrible, icy day-

As usual, his talent for knowing just what to say melted her cold demeanor and dissipated her anger. And she went back home with him, to their small, but homey apartment. The broken glass that resulted from their fight was long gone and there were rose petals on the bed.

In the days to come they made love on that bed even more than usual, and things were good. Too good, in fact. His touches returned back to the gentle caresses they'd once been. His timbre was soft again, and when he laid above her at night she could really fall back in love with him. And after six months of perfect bliss, she was entirely convinced that it really had been a one-time thing and that they'd be happy again, forever.

The first time it happened she promised herself never again. The second time it happened she'd curled into the fetal position and screamed for him to leave.

And he did. With remorse and heartbreak in his eyes, he left.

But he didn't stay away, he couldn't. He needed her too badly, life was too painful to endure without her by his side.

She'd been strong at first, until he brought up that day. _That day._ The day she'd shattered his trust and faith in her forever. The day she left him in that frozen hell. The day his eyes changed into hard, untrusting orbs.

It was her fault that his eyes were like that. It was her fault nightmares kept him up night after night. He had to drink when those terrible memories filled his mind, and then he would _think. _Think about her betrayal, think about the snow and the ice and the fear he'd suffered when the doctors told him his leg might have to go-but he recovered. Somehow, he made it back unscathed. For some reason she'll never understand, his love for her was saved as well. And with training and meditating she controlled her life siphoning flesh. And he could _touch _her.

A week later he began seeing a counselor. A week later she let him back.

And again, she was able to forget. Their bond grew stronger, this time she was sure it was unbreakable. The counseling was helping, he hardly ever drank, and the rapturous gaiety lasted for a long time. Long enough for him to propose, long enough for him to buy her a quaint, yellow house. It didn't have a white fence, but the backyard was chuck full of lilacs, and she so loved lilacs. Long enough to create a beautiful baby girl together. Long enough for her to fall madly and deeply in love with him all over again.

The first time it happened she swore never again, the second time she collapsed and threw him out. The third time it happened their baby girl cried, and cried, and cried.

She was brilliant for her two years. She knew that Daddy had hurt Mommy. She knew that Daddy cried when he saw her hiding from behind the door. She knew Daddy still loved Mommy.

She knew Mommy wasn't strong enough to let Daddy go.

He was more careful after that. If he hit her it was quietly and in the private of their bedroom. Because she didn't defend herself anymore, because she didn't make him go back to counseling, it continued.

He was very careful, indeed. He no longer struck her face, because she couldn't hide those. He forbade her to keep in touch with the mansion unless he was present. Soon she stopped bringing their daughter there for visits. Soon she stopped calling. Soon she began to forget about them, or the loved ones hurt by her negligence, or the dream she'd left behind.

The first time she'd said never again, the second she kicked him out, the third time he got more careful. The fourth time she'd been pregnant.

They still had a very active sex life. The two weeks after he hurt her were always filled with love and apologies, kisses and presents. It was only a matter of time before his seed blossomed inside of her, and before she knew it, four months had gone by and every day he was more caring, more loving.

Until she'd gone to the mansion without his permission.

In her excitement to tell Ororo and the others, she'd forgotten to call him. When she finally came home he was pale, he'd been terrified. There was alcohol on his breath, and the familiar, dark shadow was over his face. She trembled.

He'd thought she might have left him. He thought that one of his enemies had captured her, hurt her.

And then _he _began to hurt her. He grabbed her wrist harshly and told her she must be quiet, because their little girl was asleep. She pulled away, as hard as she could, but her husband was powerful and then the blows came.

He swung too low when she tried once more to pry herself away, and blood pours out of her and onto her thighs.

She knows almost instantly that the baby in her womb is dead.

The first time she'd said never again, the second she made him leave, the third time he became more careful, the fourth time he'd killed their baby. The fifth time came and went, and so did the sixth, the seventh, and soon it was happening so much she lost count.

She lost herself in the fear of when or how it would happen. She grew thin, her body didn't respond when he laid on top of her at night. No food, no sleep, no contact with the outside world, no hope.

And on it went, for three more years she lived in that hell, and when those three years were done, no one could recognize the woman she'd once been.

Her curves had shrunk, the shine in her jeweled eyes had been dulled, she only laughed when she held her daughter, and even then the sweet moment was tinged with fear. Fear of when he would get home: drunk, sober? Fear of the house work: had she cleaned everything properly? Fear for the dinner: had she prepared everything he liked just right?

The last night, he held her in his arms. His lips kissed her ear, and he told her so many things. His self-hatred, his weakness, his terrors. He asked her to make him leave, because he wasn't strong enough to go on his own.

He _begged _her to run away, to get their daughter and go. But she didn't, she couldn't. She loved him, more than was healthy, and with her decision to keep him close, she lost her chance.

Her last chance.

The last day was a blur. Their daughter was asleep in her room, they were in the kitchen, screaming at the top of their lungs.

He was drunk, so drunk that he was blacking out. He'd never been this drunk, _never. _He sobbed, threw dishes. Accusations were thrown both ways, she slapped him across the face, he shoved her into a wall.

He began talking about that day again, and all the anger she'd had went up in flames. She wept and tried to hold him, asked him to forgive what she'd done, asked him to get help.

Something dimmed in his eyes, a coldness blacked out the fire, and she was terrified. She _knew, _without a doubt, that this was it, this was the end.

But she still tried to run.

She made it to the top of the staircase before he could get his hands around her neck. Dots buzzed in her vision and she dug her nails into his wrists, he was killing her. Didn't he see? He was _killing _her!

Even as the lack of oxygen makes her vision spin, she wants to confess her love for him, wants to tell him to stop crying, to smile for her, just one more time.

When his hands leave her neck and go to her chest instead, she begs him to take good care of their baby.

When he attempts vainly to resuscitate her, she asks for his forgiveness.

When realization stabs through the alcohol and he sees what he's done, that he can't save her this time, she tells him she loves him.

The first time it'd happened hadn't been the last. She could have stopped it, she could have made him stay in rehab and get help, she could have mustered up the strength to leave him, she could have gone to her friends.

But all that didn't matter now, because Rogue is dead and Remy will never forgive himself. He will drive their daughter to Westchester and hand her to Jean. He will force a smile and tell her everything is alright, that he and 'de wife' are going out and need a babysitter.

And then he'll return to his love's side. He will tilt his head towards the ceiling and scream, one painful scream.

And then he will run. He's run before and knows how to disappear. He'll remember her voice in his head, telling him to go, to hide.

He'll forget those horrible days in Antarctica, because the memory of her smile is always enough to fight away the cold.


End file.
